


Imprint

by not_an_owl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1979, Ancient Egypt, F/M, Lucius is a good boy, Other characters may be added, Reference to Torture, Reference to death, Ron Weasley Bashing, Slow Build, Slow To Update, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, Time Turner (Harry Potter), World Travel, other taggs will be added as the story goes on, past times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-02-09 09:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18634990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_an_owl/pseuds/not_an_owl
Summary: Just two months after the war Hermione finds herself in quite some trouble, resulting in her falling back in time. And even more, it comes as a shock to her when she wakes up and is faced with her dead potions master, who doesn't seem so dead anymore. As her life is literally falling apart, she has to make new alliances and find a way to fix what can be fixed and maybe even find a way back to where she came from.All that, however, proves to be much more difficult than it seems.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome!
> 
> IMPORTANT: 1. this is my first work on this platform. Not my first one overall, but we don't talk about the others... Anyway. This story will be uploaded slow-ish to really slow depending on how uni and my health are doing. Should I ever make an overly long break, my apologies, I'll do my best.
> 
> 2\. English is not my first language. There might be a few grammar mistakes here or there or weird words that seem out of place. Should you notice something like that, let me know and I'll try and fix it. Also, my punctuation is very weird. In Germany we use commas for e v e r y t h i n g and it will be hard to get that out of my system.
> 
> Important part over~
> 
> Something else that might be interesting: Sometimes my mind just runs wild, so it might seem that from time to time not only this fanfiction is on crack, but that we both shared one syringe for injecting a very (un)healthy mix of meth and weed. Sorry for that.
> 
> and with that; good luck

Hermione Granger sat on the couch in her little flat in a small street near Diagon Alley, in front of her on the coffee-table a stack of books, another one in her hands. She had been reading about social work in the wizarding world for a few weeks now.  
She had yet to decide in what direction she wished to go for her future profession. Ever since the disaster of S.P.E.W she had been fascinated with politics and legislation. Hermione could imagine pursuing a career in law, there was however one small thing that kept her from jumping in head first. Maybe even a bigger thing. No, a major thing.

Her love for research.

Growing up in a household with two doctors had given her an early insight into science and medicine. She had known, that she would have never become a dentist, even without her education at Hogwarts. It was simply no point of interest, too ordinary for her as she had been confronted with it day by day. Her parents had offered her a month of work experience during the summer holiday from fifth to sixth year and it had bored her to death. It had been too much contact with actual patients, people who didn’t have a clue about what the root canal of a molar was. She had been fed up with listening to her mother explain time and time again, that flossing prevents a cavity from blossoming between the teeth, only for the same patient coming back again two weeks later complaining about a toothache.

She didn’t want to work with people who had no idea what she was talking about and her school years with Ron and Harry had made sure of that. Hermione wanted to develop methods in healing and treatment, that were so complex that people didn’t want to ask how exactly this medicine worked. She wanted to sit in a laboratory, bending over a microscope, wielding a knife to slice up lacewing flies and stir strange exotic plants in a boiling cauldron.  
Even after all those years as an actual witch, her childhood prejudice of fairytale witches and wizards had not vanished.

Ron always said, that if she couldn’t figure out what to do, she could always stay home and throw the household. Hermione knew he was joking. She knew she was gonna work at some point in her life, hopefully sooner than later and working in research was like a dream for her.

But pulling up a political campaign for house-elf rights had been so fulfilling and enjoyable.

Hermione sighed and closed the book. She needed to get her mind off her current problem, maybe tidying up the bedroom would help her clear her head. Additionally, she still needed to decide what she should wear for the festivities held at Hogwarts the next day. She didn’t know how to dress for such an event. It wasn’t a simple ball held to socialize; people – children – would be remembered posthumously and bestowed with medals, monetary prizes and in some cases, even Orders of Merlin that their parents would have to accept in their honor, for their child was no more. It would not be a happy gathering but it wouldn’t be a funeral either.

Picking up one of Ron’s jackets and throwing it in the hamper on her way to the bedroom she took a double take at the clock above the door. It was five in the afternoon already, multiple hours later than she thought it was. It could only be minutes now before Ron came back from the ministry to greet her with a kiss on the forehead.

Once in the bedroom, Hermione opted to pick up previously worn clothing first, before making the bed and dusting off the tables and the closet. Jerking the curtains to the side, she didn’t notice the little jewelry-box being knocked down by her elbow. She flicked her wand at the windowpanes, hitting them with a quick Scourgify to take off the superficial layer of grease that had built up over the last week.  
Living in the poorer part of London had more bad points than good, but that didn’t come as a surprise. She was lucky to have her bed and her kitchen in two different rooms and she wasn’t about to complain.

Ron had told her, she should have put in more money to get herself a better flat, one where both of them would have more space. With an actual bathtub per example. He had looked at her with a slightly wicked look - if interpreted correctly - as he said that and winked. Hermione had only chuckled and shaken her head at his antics.  
She hadn’t wanted to throw out a lot of money on a flat of which she knew wouldn’t house her for long. Only for her time as an apprentice or when she first started her job. That was the reason, why she had taken the first thing that she stumbled upon and that had been this flat. Additionally, she rather liked it here, it was strangely cozy.

Hermione ran her wand down the window frames to rid the little nooks and crannies of dust particles and opened up one of the windows to let in some fresh air. Taking a step back, the heel of her foot hit something solid laying on the soft carpet. It was her little jewelry box that she had gotten from her grandpa after some whining when she was five. They had been at the craft store to get new lightbulbs for her grandparents’ kitchen lamp and she had seen the little wooden box on one of the shelves. It looked like a pirate treasure chest and as a child, she had dreamed to be a pirate-princess (for about three months). A treasure chest had been just the thing she needed. She had pulled on her grandpa’s jacket and told him about how her mom and dad never got her anything. Grandpa had just been too happy to indulge his favourite grandchild.  
At home she had taken until past six, which was her bedtime, to finish painting the little box. Her mother had been slightly put out because of that.

Due to the impact with the floor, her childhood treasure had taken a little damage. The lid only hung on one hinge, the other one dangling from one little screw.  
Hermione bent down and retrieved the little box. The damage was nothing a little wave with a wand wouldn’t fix and within seconds the lid was once again securely attached. Inside the box were one pair of earrings, three necklaces, one hairpin and the time turner she had used in her third year.

She had found it after the war had ended and she helped to repair the Room of Requirement. When she had entered the room for the first time ever since it had been repaired she found herself in a short, but wide corridor with wide panels on the walls. There had been two closed doors on each end and in the middle, stood against the wall, a little table. On this table had been the time turner, slightly singed around the edges and fused in the joints. She had picked it up without a second thought and tucked it in her pocket, only to nearly toss it into the washing machine at her parents' house after she forgot about it. And now it was laying on the floor in her bedroom after spending nearly two months in her jewelry box.

Hermione picked it up and sat down on the duvet with flower print thrown over her bed. She found it was a little unassuming object. Many wizards and witches may think differently, but Hermione was too accustomed to it to consider it ‘special’, just from the looks that is. Additionally, she had been given one of those tiny hourglasses by her parents to track her three minutes of brushing teeth every day, and to be honest… the time turner didn’t look much different. Just golden and not made of cheap plastic. Nevertheless, it brought back memories from her third year. 

Time is a funny this, isn’t it?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is just a filler. Next chapter we'll be at these ominous festivities everyone keeps talking about.
> 
> I was really happy to see all those kudos and sweet comments from you. They made me really happy.  
> Thank you all so so much for those kind words of encouragement
> 
> I hope that I will continue to provide good content for your guilty pleasure reading activity ;)  
> The original plan for this chapter was, that it would be uploaded on Tuesday... you all saw how that worked out. The next chapters might take a while though as I have three presentations coming up in the following weeks and let me tell you... translating wall inscriptions in Egyptian tombs when you are only in second semester is a right challenge.
> 
> But on to the story

The morning had been widely uneventful. Ron and Hermione had shared a few slices of bread with butter, some eggs and a cup of tea. Just like the morning before. And the one before that. And the one before that. It was always bread and eggs and occasionally beacon or beans. A classic English breakfast. 

Over the course of the day, Hermione had cleaned the flat again, this time by hand, while Ron sat on the couch reading multiple Quidditch magazines simultaneously. He had offered his help, but being perfectly honest, Hermione wanted him out of the way. She didn't like dancing around someone else while doing chores, no matter how romantic Cinderella had made it look to a three-year-old Hermione Granger. It was disruptive and it complicated things.

After her morning full of housework, she decided to take a quick nap. The evening would be long and exhausting and even though she would feel like death, she didn't have to look like it too.  
Sleep had been a constant problem ever since the last day of the war just two months prior. Nightmares plagued her dreams, and when she woke up screaming and crying, Hermione saw wild eyes and grinning mouths in every corner of the pitch black bedroom. There was also this constant echo of Bellatrix's deranged laugh. It kept following her everywhere.  
On bad days she would hear the gurgling sounds of the breath of those who died in front of her own eyes. It sounded too real.

Hermione lay there, below the covers, staring at the ceiling. Maybe she was trying to memorize every single little bump under the tapestry. Or maybe not. That would be too much of a bother. And it felt like it would be a chore, not something that she would do in her free time.   
Or perhaps she was attempting to memorize her own thoughts. Make them swim as letters in front of her as if she were at the aquarium. It helped her to sort her memories.

Her current thoughts were all about the dress she had chosen for this evening’s occasion. And what a positively, stereotypically female thought that was. She had floo called Ginny in the evening to get her friend’s opinion on it. There had been nothing much to choose from considering that transfigurations only held for two or three hours. It had been the tough choice between the ballgown she had worn at the Yule Ball in her fourth year (she had brought it to Madame Malkins shortly after to have it altered so that she would be able to still fit in it as she became older. She had opted for lacing instead of the muggle zipper in the back) and her grandmothers gown from the early 1900s (her grandmother had bought it second hand (She had loved the old Edwardian dress style which she had shown in the way she dressed until she died a few years before). 

Ginny had said, that the Yule Ball dress would be too frilly and childish for this particular occasion so they had collectively decided on the Grandma-Gown. It was also frilly, but a more sophisticated sort of frilly. It was a mix of royal blue chiffon and white lace. It also wasn’t an evening gown but no one needed to know that.  
Hermione wasn’t sure whether the dress was still in its original form or if her Grandmother had altered it. The combination of fabrics seemed to be so atypical for the time period. She could, however, be wrong, after all, Hermione knew about literature and science, not about the history of fashionable fabrics.  
The skirt was the typical high-waisted style that she had seen many witches wearing and the collar was buttoned up to just below the jawline. She had never actually worn the dress if she was completely honest, but she hoped for the best. If it was too wide she would try to use a pin to secretly put it in its place. 

Now that she had thought about dressing for quite a while, Hermione determined that it was now time to actually do so. As she didn’t want to rush she considered that it was time anyway. Her feet patted over the cold hardwood floor of the bedroom. They really had to invest in heating other than the fireplace in the living room. 

She had taken the dress out of the closet immediately after she and Ginny had agreed on the garment and hung it on the outside. The rest of the evening was spent choosing the jewellery for the great day. It had taken quite some time to decide between the four different sets of accessories she had, but in the end, she had decided upon an off white cameo framed with saltwater pearls and sapphires. Well, blue stones that looked like sapphires. Hermione didn’t have the monetary possibilities to afford proper sapphires. She had also chosen a silver ring with small clear crystals and a pair of earring in the same design. Her hair was planned to be in an up-do and held by an ornamented comb. She would definitely need the help of at least one and a half packs of muggle bobby pins.

Ron was still in the living room looking through various Quidditch magazines, he had however gotten himself a sandwich and put it one of the freshly washed plates. But that’s what plates were there for, weren’t they?   
“Hey, Ron? Do you think I should do my hair before or after putting on the dress?” Hermione got a glass out of the cabinet and poured herself a glass of orange juice. Ron looked up from the article about the newest addition to the Chudley Cannons team. “How am I supposed to know? I’ve never done my hair. But if you have to pull the collar over your head, then you should put the dress on first, I guess,” he shrugged, “But honestly, Mione. It’s only three p.m. you surely won’t take that long for just hair and clothes, right?”

“Well, first I’ll have a bath. And I have to put my hair into proper curls and decisively not in this bird nest. And I don’t know how long it will take to lace up the dress. And I need to do my make-up. And I’m stressed,” Hermione groaned and set down her glass, “I feel like I should have started at least one hour early!” Ron just raised an eyebrow at her antics and shook his head. With a sigh, he put his magazine down and stood up from the couch.   
“Listen, sweetheart,” he pressed a kiss into Hermione’s bushy hair and put his hands on her waist, “I don’t care what you look like. You don’t have to do all of this bloody beauty stuff. If it makes you uncomfortable, then don’t do it.” “What do you mean with I don’t care what you look like? Also, I don’t really want to be the trash-talk of the Skeeter movement,” she weaselled out of Ron’s embrace. 

“I’m sorry for snapping at you, Ron, but I really am a little bit stressed over this. I really want to look good today. A newspaper front-page with my photo and the title what was the golden girl thinking now is not something that I want to put on my fridge,” Hermione said as she turned away from Ron. The young man just took a deep breath, then nodded. “You’re right. I may or may not have phrased this wrong. But bloody hell, I forgot about that leech Skeeter,” he snorted, “Or what was it? A grasshopper?” Hermione had opened the door to the small bathroom and looked back over her shoulder. 

“A beetle, actually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same as last time!  
> You can follow me on my social media. Mostly because I want you to, but also because I might post artwork that could be related to this story (in the future)
> 
> insta: artist_of.the_coven  
> tumblr: hp-artist
> 
> Lot's of love, Chissy


	3. Chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit longer than the ones before.
> 
> And I promise you, we will get to the juicy stuff very soon

“I would like to welcome all of you here today! This day is a very special one. We are here to celebrate victory, freedom and the end of a long time filled with fear and terror,” Kingsley Shacklebold’s deep violet robe was illuminated by the hundreds of candles that floated over the stage in Hogwarts’ Great Hall, “But we are also here to remember those that will not get the chance to see our world in this new light. We are here to remember the loss, that everybody in this room had to encounter. 

“We will reach out to all the young and the old, that have given their lives to this cause. We will remember our most precious moments with them. We will frame them and display them to have them heard one more time,” Shacklebold looked down onto the Two-hundred-and-thirty-two faces staring at him. Many sat there silently, giving no visible reaction to his words, “But we won’t cry. We will be glad for those who have not lost anyone close to them. We will be happy, that those, who have gone, will not have to suffer any more! They are in a better place. In a place without sorrows and worries. In a place where they know they are safe from the future. 

“We will celebrate their life. We will celebrate their happiness and everything they have done. We will celebrate every step they took, every meal they made, every book they read, every homework they forgot to do, every time they didn’t tidy up their room even though they were told so. We will celebrate every small thing in their lives and we will tell their stories so that our children will tell them to their children.”

The hall erupted into applause. Not abruptly, but one after one the people started to clap. Some, because they had genuinely liked the new Minister’s speech, others because of common curtsey.   
Kingsley had been introduced as the new head of state just one week ago after the majority of the dust had settled. Some people were enthusiastic about their new Minister of Magic, others didn’t really know what to think yet. He had been a rather invisible person beforehand and not all witches and wizards knew of his political views and where they would lead wizarding Britain in their pursuit of a more peaceful life. 

There had been many articles about him and his past political campaigns, they had however vanished between the reports about every new man or woman that had been arrested on different types of allegations. More and more supporters of the Dark Side seemed to turn up every week. People started getting paranoid. They reported their neighbours ‘suspicious behaviours’ without any real reason. A set of curtains that hadn’t been opened for one day was enough for some to get worried.

Additionally, more and more conspiracy theories started to pop up, and not just gossip-wise. As of recently, The Daily Prophet had become even more of a tabloid paper than it had been before the war. Suddenly all that people cared about were the newest rumours, what the popular ones were wearing and what team would win the next world cup. According to the Prophet that was probably the British team. They hadn’t reported about any other team really.

“However, today we want to honour everybody who has taken part in the Battle of Hogwarts directly with the newly established Order of the Phoenix third class. This medal was brought to life for special efforts in warfare. It is named after the organization that was founded by Albus Dumbledore in 1970 to build to oppose You Know Who’s reign of terror and was a leading force in both wars,” Shacklebold was speaking up again, trying, and quickly succeeding, to drown out the applause. Hermione groaned inwardly at the mention of the newly established medal. They should have given it a better name.

“We will hand out a total of eight-hundred-and-forty-three Orders of the Phoenix. Some of them will be given to direct family members, as their original recipient is not able to receive it themselves. As it would take to long to hand out each Order individually today, there will another event catering towards this specific purpose be held in two weeks time. The full list of names will be printed in tomorrows edition of The Daily Prophet and The Quibbler. Additionally, you will find the instalment of a new wall in the Ministry of Magic taking place immediately after the ceremony in two weeks. On this wall you will find the names of every participant that received one of these Orders of the Phoenix,” Kingsley paused briefly, “If one of you should not want to receive their Order, you will not have to. But with the rejection of your medal, your name will also be erased from both records.”

Next to Hermione Harry shifted in his seat. He looked over to her and rolled his eyes. Harry too wanted this whole ordeal over. They wanted to go home and forget about the war and all the pain that it had brought. No one wanted to be reminded at every turn. They were just teenagers after all.

And they really didn’t have the patience to sit through long speeches and ceremonies, even if it was important.

They were sitting in the Great Hall, that was still lacking the enchanted ceiling as well as the doors. If it hadn’t been for a few strategically placed charms, the wind would have been whistling through the room. Behind the stage, the floor was still cluttered with rubble; pieces of picture frames, parts of statues and walls, a part of the big entrance doors and a lot of things that weren’t definable. 

Apparently, everyone had done their best in trying to tidy up until the festivities, but they hadn't managed the whole workload. When you sat in the middle of the hall, the bits and pieces were obscured by the stage and the backdrop, but if you sat to the side as Hermione did, you could catch glimpses when you moved just the right way.

Everyone was placed around round tables instead of the long tables that normally adorned the Great Hall, which was strategically not exactly smart. Some people had to turn around in the most uncomfortable manner to look up to the stage and for some reason, they had made the chosen one one of these people. Harry didn’t look happy about this, but Hermione couldn’t really resent his feelings.

“We will, however, be handing out medals today. First, eighteen people will be granted the honour of an Order of Merlin 2nd class. I would like to welcome Molly Weasley to this stage!” With her name being announced, the Weasley matriarch pushed her chair back and made her way up towards the Minister of Magic. Shacklebold said some more words, but they were hardly audible over the applause and the cheering coming from the audience, especially from the Weasley children.

And with that, a long procedure of calling the name, receiving the medal and giving a short speech about the same exact topic as the person before began. The whole entire Weasley clan, with the exception of Ron, received an Order of Merlin 2nd class. George accepted his twin’s Medal with a brave face and mumbled a quick “thanks, he would have liked it” into the microphone on the eagle podium. He handed it to his father, who quickly stuffed it into his coat pocket, as soon as he sat down.

“I don’t have a speech prepared, Hermione! What do I do?” Harry whispered in her ear and Hermione nearly dropped her head on the table top. “Why didn’t you write one Harry? You knew full well, that you would have to say something!” “I forgot about it. I really didn’t want to think about this whole thing here. Merlin, I’m I so much trouble!” Harry groaned, furrowing his brows.  
“Then think of something on the fly! You can’t just say ‘thanks, guys’ and walk of. I don’t know, say something about teamwork. How about everyone’s support! I really don’t know. Say something about Dumbledore and maybe Snape. Just spin a tale of friendship and trust in others or something.” Hermione whispered back to him. 

At that moment Ginny elbowed Harry in the side and jerked her head towards the stage. “Your turn,” she mouthed and rolled her eyes in Hermione’s direction. Harry quickly rose out of his char, knocking his glass of orange juice over in the process. “So I should mention Snape? Or not?” he whispered one more time to Hermione. “ No idea. Now go.” Harry nodded and made his way up to the stage.

He was presented with an Order of Merlin 1st class. His little improvised speech went quite well, maybe not completely, but no one was phased by it.  
Ron and Hermione too were presented with an Order of Merlin 1st class and both parroted back what Harry had said previously, although they didn’t accidentally call Snape ‘a great headmaster’ and Dumbledore ‘a courageous spy’. After them, only Dumbledore was awarded a second Order of Merlin for his role in the War.

And finally, the food.

Although it didn’t receive an Order of Merlin, it surely should have. The house elves had outdone themselves. They dished up various forms of entrées, sweet and solid ones, as well as various main courses varying from a full suckling pig to a wide variety of vegetarian meals. Needless to say, Ron was in heaven.

Hermione helped herself to a small portion of hummus with cress and lemon, before sharing a big piece of pork with Harry, simply because she had never eaten suckling pig before. She would probably have enjoyed it more if people wouldn’t have come around to their table to shake their hands every three seconds. Many tried to engage the trio into a full-blown conversation about politics or the weather and Harry, Hermione and Ron had trouble escaping their claws.

At some point, Molly and Arthur started asking questions about what they wanted to do with their lives now, that they were out of school and in the world of work.   
“I really want to become an Auror,” Harry swallowed his piece of meat, “I mean, both Ron and I have started training already and I think I’ve found my thing.” Arthur nodded and gave both boys a small smile. “Just be careful you two. It might be interesting now, but it can rise above your head really quickly.” “I sure hope it won’t,” Harry answered, “I don’t know if Ron likes it too much, though,” he leaned over Ginny to tap on Ron’s shoulder, “do you want to stay in auror training?”  
Ron looked up from his plate filled with bacon and poached eggs quickly, startled out of his fascination with his food.

“I don’t know really,” he stuffed another fork full into his mouth, “It’s cool and all, but I think, I really want to go and try out for Quidditch.” His mother sighed, “Ron, we talked about this. It’s not a steady career. I don’t want you sitting somewhere in Diagonally without a penny in sight.” Ron rolled his eyes at this, but Hermione nodded. “You should really sleep over this for another night. You could learn another job before you try out for Quidditch. Then you have at least some experience in your pocket if it shouldn’t work out.” she said and dabbed her mouth with a napkin.

Ron put his knife and fork down and furrowed his eyebrows. “ Why do you have to be so mean. Quidditch has always been my dream and now you don’t want me to fulfil my lifelong dream? Just because you like overworking yourself to the point that everyone around you breaks, doesn’t mean that I have to like the same thing.” Ron looked at her angrily. “I’m not trying to keep you from your dream. I am simply saying that your mother is right with Quidditch not being a steady career. Of course, you can go and play for some team, but at some point, that career will be over, or it might not work out the way you want it to. A name can bring you into many places, but not all of them. Also, I wasn’t trying to be mean. I’m just trying to warn you,” Hermione huffed and went for the delicious mousse au chocolat before the others could decimate it. “Whatever...” Ron said and shovelled another piece of egg into his mouth.

The conversation broke off quickly after this. Harry and Ginny were visibly uncomfortable while Ron was fuming. Molly and Hermione started discussing the pros and contras of household charms and Arthur tried to engage Harry into yet another conversation about motorboats even though Harry had told him before, that he really didn’t know much about them.

After dinner was done, the stage was vanished, although they left the backdrop to hide the rubble, to make space for a dance floor. Live music was played by a small orchestra and mainly consisted of classical music, much to the older generation’s satisfaction and the younger peoples chagrin. Everyone in between didn’t care much, they were only here for the expensive champagne and Harry Potter anyways.

With Ginny’s okay, Harry lead Hermione onto the dance floor as Ron didn’t seem to be doing much effort in this field. Due to the fact that the golden boy still couldn’t dance, they only really shimmied over the stone floor. Harry told her little anecdotes from Auror training, that made Hermione genuinely laugh, especially because he tried to re-enact failed attempts at manoeuvrers without breaking their ‘dance’. It looked so incredibly horrible.

A few minutes later they came back to their table, laughing and out of breath and Harry plopped down onto his chair. Hermione took Ginny’s hand. “You don’t mind if I steal your beloved, Harry, do you?” Both girls giggled as Harry just waved them away without opening his eyes. As Hermione whisked her best girlfriend away for a dance, she saw Ron leading a tall blonde onto the dance floor, but she didn’t really mind it at that moment.

“I really like your earrings,” Ginny said after a few seconds and raised on hand to poke it and make it swing around a bit, “is it an old one?” Hermione shrugged, “I’m not sure. I think I got it when I was like 12 and first got my ears pierced. So, no. It’s not old.” she grinned and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She whisked the redhead into a quick turn, making the girl squeak.

“You’re wearing a necklace underneath your dress. That’s not how that works, Mione.” Ginny reached for the little chain that stuck out of Hermione’s collar to free it from its confinement.   
“No, wait!” the brunette stopped her friend’s hand, “it’s my old time turner. I’m not exactly allowed to have it, but I didn’t want to leave it home in case anyone breaks in,” she whispered and Ginny dropped the chain. “You weren’t wearing it before though. I thought you lost it?” she whispered back. Hermione shook her head, “I found it shortly after the battle in the ROR and forgot about it. But now that I found it again I’m a little overprotective over it.” Ginny nodded in understanding and they dropped the subject.

After another minute of shimmying and turning without real aim, both girls headed back to their table. Molly and Arthur were on the dance floor and Harry was talking with George about the triple W’s new concept line. Ron sat in his chair next to the blonde woman who had taken up his sister’s chair. Both looked up when they saw the girls approaching.

“Ah! Hermione! Ginny!” Ron rose from his seat, as did the blonde. Any memories from the Quidditch discussion seemed forgotten. “This is Coraline. She works at the ministry in the filing department.” he gestured towards the tall woman, who gave a short nod, “Coraline, this is Ginny. She’s my little sister. And this is Hermione, my room-mate. You have probably heard of her in the news.”

Room-mate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everybody who leaves kudos or simply likes the story so far. And of course, those people who leave comments. You guys keep me going


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Hello it's been a while, sorry
> 
> But here is the next chapter and the fifth and sixth one are already in progress

“Roommates? What is that supposed to mean?” Hermione slammed the door shut behind her. “I’m not your roommate! As far as previous discussions are concerned I’m your girlfriend! Or did you forget that?” 

After the debacle at the memorial function, Hermione had been fuming. Rightly so according to Ginny. She had not spoken to Ronald on the entire way back to their – no, her – flat and instead went over all the possibilities for yelling at him. A brief moment she even thought about putting all of his stuff in boxes and just throwing them out the window, but upon second thought, she considered that a touch too much. Ron, on the other hand, had apparently not seen anything wrong with his statement. No one, including Harry and Ginny, had made a comment when it happened and instead just looked between Ron and Hermione. The curly haired witch had decided to keep a low profile for the time being as to not draw anyone's attention to the messed up situation.

“What is your problem, woman? What did I do now?” Ronald’s face was starting to turn as red as his hair, either from embarrassment or anger wasn’t clear.  
“Just because I said one wrong word you all but blow up? You’ve gotta be crazy.”, He threw his jacket over the hanger and kicked off his shoes.

“Crazy?”, screamed Hermione, “Crazy? You are crazy! And you know what? I don’t want anyone who forgets that they’re in a relationship that easily to be my partner. I know your brains are a little scrambled, but forgetting to buy milk is entirely different from forgetting your own damn girlfriend!”  
The young witch’s throat was starting to strain as she tried to keep her volume up.

Ron scoffed and started to unbutton his waistcoat. “So this is about me forgetting to buy milk one single time, yeah? Bloody hell! If you want your milk so dearly why don’t you go out and get it yourself? Or is that to low for Miss high and mighty, huh?” he walked into the bedroom and Hermione could hear him opening different drawers in their closet. “Oh, and before I forget it, “ he stuck his head back through the door, “It’s alright for me to do the one or the other chore, but I’m not doing all of them. You live here too in case you’ve missed it and I do not plan to come home just to carry your fucking arse on hands so you can do whatever you want while I throw the whole entire household.” Ronald slammed the door shut behind him, presumably to get himself ready for bed.

Hermione was speechless for a moment. How dare he presume that it was him doing all the work around the flat. He hadn’t raised a single finger in the last two weeks to do anything besides putting a new role of toilet paper in the bathroom. However, it didn’t take the brunette long to find her words.

“This is absolutely not about you forgetting to buy milk. This is about you telling a quite busty blonde, who you seemed to be quite chummy with, that I am essentially just a random person to you!” Hermione banged the bedroom door open to reveal an entirely naked Ronald Weasley who tried to conceal his rather measly modesty with his underpants in hand.  
“Why was it necessary for you to introduce me as not your girlfriend, not even your friend or close friend but as your roommate?” Are you trying to tell me you’ve been dating Cordula from The Play Witch? Because if so, you can pack your stuff and crawl back to your mummy who carries your arse on hands.” Her voice started to break halfway through the sentence, but it hardly mattered anymore.  
“And while we’re at it! When was the last time you scrubbed the floors, or washed up the kitchen counters, or took out the trash, or cleaned the shower walls, or washed the bedding, did the laundry, made dinner, cleaned the windows, ironed your clothes, did the washing up, put your magazines on the shelf or washed the curtains?” Hermione Granger did not like it when people underappreciated the amount of work she did, She didn’t like it at all.

“First of all, Hermione, her name is Coraline and she works as a secretary in the auror department. Second of all, why should I care about the size of her titts. It hardly matters anyways and you should know this as well as I do. After all, I’m still with you aren’t I?” Ron was trying to get his new set of boxers and pyjama pants on without Hermione seeing him naked. Even though she had seen him stalkers before, this was an entirely different situation. “And just for your information: I cleaned the windows just yesterday and they are still clean as you can see!”

The young witch couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She had noticed that Ron liked to take credit for things that others had done, but this went too far.  
“You can’t just take the credit for the things I have done around here so you feel better for yourself. That bullcrap might have worked with your family, but it sure won’t work when there is only one other person living with you!” Ron went beet red at that, realizing he had been caught in an old habit.  
“And you know what? Be with Clarissa all you want, because I couldn’t care less. I also know that I can do better than you and her combined, so get your clothes and your Quidditch magazines and leave! I don’t want to see you around here any more.” Hermione went over to the closet and started to throw her now ex-boyfriends clothing on the bed.

So much for not breaking up and throwing him out.  
But now it was too late to gear back down and tell him she was sorry for overreacting. She would stick to her words, even if she would regret them later. If there was anything worth repairing in this relationship, Ron would have to apologize first. Only then she would apologize for blowing up on him.

“And you know what else!”, Hermione was shaking and her face had turned a remarkably bright shade of red, “I’m gonna go get my own milk right now and when I come back you’re out! Give your mum my greetings and don’t come back.”

Hermione took a steadying breath, took her cloak and went out of the door without a look back at Ron. She was still wearing her evening gown and heels, but she didn’t care. When she had reached the bottom of the stairs, silent tears were slipping down her face, leaving streaks in her make up.  
It was past midnight, which meant that the bigger stores were long closed and she would have to go to the twenty-four-hour open corner store near the Leaky Cauldron.

The young witch had to admit, she had overreacted. Her original plan had been to sit him down and make him talk. Mostly because Ron didn’t like talking too much as he preferred getting straight to the point. Forcing him to explain himself would have meant that he would have talked himself into a frenzy and therefore more likely to say things he planned to keep secret.  
What a positively Slytherin tactic.

Hermione knew, that she would have to apologize sooner or later, although she would probably go to Molly and Arthur first and afterwards she would talk to Ginny about how to approach Ron best. She didn’t want to give away that she was already regretting her actions.

She was stumbling across the streets, no doubt a great picture for the press, still in a rage that was just short of boiling over. The only thing preventing her from throwing the rocks on the ground out of sheer anger was that she would have to pay for any kind of damage that was subsequent to that type of behaviour.

It was not a great idea to wander the streets of Britain’s magical world at night, especially Diagon Alley. Not because of the danger of being on the receiving end of a criminal’s attack, but because of the owls. This may not be a danger per se, but it made for some uncomfortable tidying up once one reached home. Ever since the end of the war, Eeylops Owl Emporium had once again taken to letting the birds fly out at night. They were not on a hunt, as they were well fed, but they did tend to enjoy a certain degree of roughhousing above the rooftops of the city. As a result, there were soft feathers floating down from the sky like snow. They made up an entire blanket on the cobblestone and shingles of nearby roofs before they were cleaned up at approximately four in the morning when life came back into the shop life of Diagon Alley.  
The Birds were called back in and the area cleaned with a few flicks of the wrist by the shopkeepers, market stands were opened on the market square that connected Diagon alley and Nivian Lane, Tom the barkeeper at the Leaky started preparing breakfast for the guests that had to depart early and various other shops started cleaning their display windows. Within just ten minutes the streets would be filled with early diligent workers.  
At night, however, nothing could be heard outside of the pubs. Only the occasional fluttering of wings and screeches when two owls tumbled across the sky.

Hermione, however, did not care for the owls tonight, nor did she care that her brown curls were speckled with different coloured feathers. The sound of her heels on the stone was the only noise that broke through the otherwise quiet night. Her utmost priority was getting out of the house, out of that stuffy flat with the heavy, dusty air. Her quest to buy milk was of less important at this moment. 

The cool air filled Hermione’s lungs while her heart rate slowly started to go down. The blood was still rushing through her ears. It was a throbbing, a little bit like TV statics in the beat of her heart. It was because of that…

“Well, well, well. Who do we have here?”

Suddenly Hermione’s back was pressed up against the cold stone wall of The Magical Menagerie, her head banged against the bricks with a dull thud. The throbbing in her ears was not entirely gone, but now it was due to the pain pulsating through her parietal bone on the back of her skull.

“Little Miss Granger. Can’t believe it. What’s a little Missy like you doin’ out that late at night, huh?”, Hermione’s eyes came back into focus and rested right on the badly burned face of Antonin Dolohov.  
“What ‘bout you, brother? Fancy a tasty late night snack?”, his hot breath caressed her neck just below her ear. It was a cold sort of caress, emotionally speaking. It was one of those sorts that sent a shiver down one's spine. One that made every hair on your body stand up straight.  
The Death Eater had pressed his wand below her chin lifting her head up against the bricks of the wall.  
Walden McNair stood just to paces away on her other side, his wand ready in hand and his eyes sliding from side to side.

“Hurry up you fool. It may be night time, but not all little sheep are tucked away in their cosy little beds. If you remember correctly, there are not that many left that figured out how the world should work,” the man licked his lips, “everything that’s left is just blood traitors and mudbloods. And neither are particularly intelligent. In other words; they don’t like us.”  
Hermione’s right hand started to creep down towards her hip, her breathing heavy and raspy. As her fingers started to fiddle with the first layer of her skirt, she suddenly felt like her whole world stopped and sped up at the same time. In her mind was a memory replaying over and over again like a movie. It was herself, storming into her flat with Ronald hot on her heels. Her memory self threw the door shut and slammed her wand down on the table beside the entrance.

She had not picked it back up again when she stormed out after her short dispute with Ron.

She was going to die.

“That’s just sad,” Dolohov grunted, “I’d started to come up with so many ways to play with you, Dolly.” The man moved his fingers up to her throat and started to squeeze lightly. Hermione whimpered.  
“But my brother is right, we don’ have time and mankind is generally dum’. An’ we don’ want our little Missy to cry for a knight in shiny armour. The Potter brat won’ win this time.”

Antonin Dolohov leaned away from his prey supporting himself on the arm that held Hermione’s neck, cutting off her air supply entirely. The young woman was starting to pale and her lips were slowly going blue.

“We’re gonna finish you off. Right here, right now,” McNair raised his wand to her cheek, “Then your little friend doesn’t have to come running to get you.”  
Dolohov let go of her and Hermione slumped against the wall. Her breath coming in ragged bouts she tried to get away, but her steps were too unsteady, her legs shaking and her head throbbing while her vision was swimming in pretty colours in front of her eyes. She could hear both men snickering as her knees made contact with the hard ground.  
“How ‘bout a little target practice? We’ve gotta be prepared should these sorry excuses of Aurors ever catch us. We will take out as many as we can, which means all of them!”  
Hermione didn’t know who was speaking, she tried to focus on getting back on her feet. Her ankles were straining painfully against the leather of her shoes and her knees still felt like jelly.

She didn’t notice the whispered words, nor did she see the green flash of light, that hit her straight in the chest. She didn’t even feel the burning of heated metal between her breasts s her body slumped to the floor.  
She just felt like floating, wrapped up in a warm blanket filled with soft feathers. She was upright and upside down at the same time, rising and falling and spinning and laying still.  
And through all of that, she still didn’t notice the molten gold slowly burning into her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://hp-artist.tumblr.com/post/185227229171/i-did-a-new-hermione-drawing-for-the-fanfiction
> 
> I drew a picture corresponding with this chapter and how I see Hermione
> 
> Lots of Love from Germany


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry...  
> I planned to update like forty years sooner, but I a simply a bum.
> 
> Euthanize me.
> 
> First I lost my appendix and then I had no idea how to end this chapter. Also, I wrote a 15 page term paper about time travel in Harry otter and now I hate myself. I hope that my creativity will come back, but here is this chapter of an absolute mess

There was nothing around Hermione. But somehow it also felt that there was everything. She felt like falling, but the kind of falling you do in a dream. It made her feel unsure of what was happening. Although, to tell the truth, she really didn’t know what was going on. 

Her eyes were closed and her eyelids heavy, way too heavy to open them. Additionally, her chest was burning like fire. Hermione felt like her lungs were filling up with hot lava and her veins running with molten metal. Her skin, on the other hand, was as cold as ice, so cold that she couldn't feel her fingertips or toes. But then again, every single nerve in her body seemed to tingle. It was like there were little ants crawling all over her body.

Hermione knew she had been hit by a spell. What she didn’t know was, what kind of spell. Was it one of Dolohov’s own inventions or a specific torture curse used by Death Eaters? It could even be a very old spell from a book in the library of Malfoy Manor. There had been lots of books like that in there. She faintly remembered having to go back to the mansion after the war to give a detailed description of the events she had witnessed to the Aurors. Even though she had seen the library only in the passing, she had managed to catch some of the titles on the spines of the books closest to the door.

Suddenly, the young witch felt a hard surface pressed against her back. It felt cold, much colder than her fingers or toes felt. She fought to pry her eyes open, but the burning in her chest just became stronger and stronger with every movement Hermione attempted to make. Slowly, a single, silent tear slid down her cheek before it got caught in her ear. The pain was too much, she just wanted to make it stop. Make it stop. Just stop. No more pain. Stop the pain. Stop everything…

With a gasp, Hermione sat up. Her ears were still pounding like they did when she got attacked just minutes ago. Or was it seconds? Or even maybe years? She wasn’t sure. But the burning in her chest had stopped. It felt good, not feeling like her ribs were being liquefied and slowly oozing out of her body.  
Hermione looked down at her chest to make sure that everything was alright and without scorch marks. The first thing that struck her was, that there was just a blinding white light between her breasts, too bright for her to see if there was any damage done to her skin. The second thing she noticed was, that she was entirely naked, not a scrap of fabric on her small frame. Strangely enough, she didn’t feel the urge to cover herself.

The room around her seemed familiar, but she couldn’t recall when she had been here before. She sat on the marble floor of a corridor with white wall panels and two doors on each end. Although, one of the doors was more an archway. The ceiling was dizziness inducingly high and not completely visible underneath the layer of dark clouds. It reminded her a lot of Hogwarts’ Great Hall.

Hogwarts? Great Hall?  
A magical building with a magical room.  
A magical room…

The room of Requirement!

This was the corridor that the Room had shown her the day she found the time turner!

That meant, that there was a small table just in the middle of the corridor. She was at Hogwarts! Had she perhaps managed to apparate herself to safety?  
Hermione scrambled to her feet. She was safe! There were no Death Eaters here surely!  
She turned away from the archway and tried to sprint towards the door that lead to the corridor in the 7th story right by that tapestry. 

Only, it wasn’t there. There was no third door. The table was there, including the little flower vase, just like she remembered. But no third door. Just wall panels.

Hermione let her fingers slide over the white painted wood. Maybe there was a little gap somewhere and the door would reappear. But there was nothing.   
Next, she tried pacing in front of the wall three times while focussing her mind on the door and the corridor to which it lead, her eyes screwed tightly shut. But when she opened them, once again; just white wall panels.  
It had no use, she had to find a different way out.

The young witch turned back towards the spot where she had lain. It was right in front of the archway, maybe a few meters away. There were scorch marks on the marble tiles as if someone had blown up a small cauldron. Hermione had the sneaking suspicion, that she was responsible for the marks. Maybe she didn’t just imagine the burning? There had not been any flames to confirm this, although, maybe there had been and she just didn’t know because she had not been able to open her eyes.

A look down towards her chest confirmed her thought; her skin was still glowing, still as radiantly white and she could still not see where the light was actually coming from. It looked almost as if someone had set magnesium on fire, just without a sound. It was a weird sort of light, almost as if she was just imagining it. Normally, any source of light would result in shadows being thrown by the objects and people around it, this one, however, didn’t bring those shadows nor did it seem to exist as soon as she looked away.

Hermione brought her attention back to the archway in front of her. While the corridor was certainly lit by the candles up on the wall, there was a brighter light coming through the opening of the archway. The marble tiles continued into the room and she could make out a wide stone pillar further back, the rest of the room was foggy.  
Although whatever was behind the entry was not entirely clear, it looked very inviting and almost cosy.  
Hermione thought she heard voices coming from within, but they were so muffled, they might as well have been a bunch of bumblebees. That, however, seemed to be slightly unlikely.

The young witch decided, that before she went to talk to whoever was in this room, she wanted to check out the closed door. She didn’t trust the Room of Requirement enough to not just close of everything behind her and leave her without the chance to seek out potentially important things that might bee hid away behind the closed wooden door on the other end of the hallway.

Her bare feet tapped over the cool marble floor, past the point where she had woken up and past the little table on which she had found the time turner two months earlier. The door she faced now seemed really small compared to the arch on the opposite side of the corridor. It was average at best, or better to say boring. While the rest of the hallway was decorated with almost lavish extravaganza, the door was just…rectangular and, yes, ordinary. Just a wooden slab with a doorknob, that was it. There was no noise that could be heard from where she stood, not even the humming from the room behind the archways on the other side of the hallway.  
Without really thinking, she raised her hand and her fingers touched the cold brass knob before turning it. Nothing, no response from the door, besides a little creaking of the wood. Hermione took a step back and eyed her obstacle. Should she try to open it, or was it not worth it? Should she check it out later?

Later was probably the better option. A locked door was intriguing. Especially when you were in a place and didn’t know how you got there. Maybe it was the exit. It had to be. The big marble hall on the other side looked too much like a part of the inner structure of the building whatever it was. But on the other hand, the door was much too boring and simple to be the entrance to such a lavishly styled house.   
Hermione turned back towards the archway, her feet tapped over the cold marble once again, past the table, past every wall panel, past all the candlesticks that were mounted – wait no. She stopped. Back past every wall panel, back past all the candlesticks, but not past the table. There, on the dainty white lace tablecloth, right in front of the flower vase was a key. A little rusty and the handle was a little dented, but other than that it looked fully functional. It just had to be for the door, a perfect coincidence.

With a look back to the archway, Hermione picked the key up. It was a little heavier than she had expected it to be, but it lay in her hand perfectly. She walked back to the wooden door and slowly slipped the key in the keyhole. It fit. She turned it and the lock clicked under her fingers before the door suddenly swung open with a bang. Not once, Hermione noticed, had she thought about using her magic.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a small one.
> 
> I just read all the comments and I am so happy to see that you all seem to like my story so far
> 
> Lots of Love from Germany

The room behind the door was dark and the air was stuffy. It smelled like century-old dust was settling on every surface and had now been whirled up from a fresh gust of air. Hermione sneezed.

“Bless you, Granger.”

With a gasp, Hermione looked up. Her eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness in the room and whoever just spoke was hidden beneath the shadow-blanket. Slowly and carefully, she took a few steps forward. She felt the marble tiles under her feet changing into wooden planks, then carpet. The door shut with a quiet click. She was locked in a room with a stranger, the key was outside in the lock.

“Who’s there?” Hermione whispered. Although, she did not really want the answer. On the wall a candle flame jumped into existence, then another and her eyes slowly adjusted to the new light. “That is beyond me, Miss Granger. Why don’t you tell me.”

In an armchair just off centre of the room sat Professor Severus Snape in his teaching robes and with a book in hand. “You have always been extraordinarily studious. Have you not figured your situation out yet? Or why you are not wearing any clothes?” he raised one of his fine eyebrows.  
Hermione let out a squeak. She had forgotten she was nude. And that in front of her old Professor. She looked around frantically while trying to cover her most private parts with her hands.  
“Please don’t look, Sir!” she whirled around. There, on a second armchair. A blanket. Hermione made a dash for it and quickly wrapped it around her nude form. “I am so sorry, Sir. I forgot. I know it’s- it’s not something one should forget… getting dressed I mean… but everything is so strange here and I don’t know where I am and – and – why are you alive again? I don’t understand! Did I hit my head? Am I dreaming? Hallucinating? I must be, I -” “Miss Granger! Reign yourself in, for the love of Merlin. Do you have to be an impertinent chit about everything?” Snape interrupted her rambling. 

“You are dead, Miss Granger. Quite simply,” he explained as if he had just told her why snow didn’t fall on warm days.

“Dead?”

“Yes”

“Why?”

Snape shook his head, the tips of his dark hair stroking his shoulders. “Do not ask the ‘why’ when you already know the ‘how’”. Hermione sat down on the second armchair and huddled herself into the backrest. Did she know the ‘how’? And if she didn’t know the ‘how’, how could she figure out the ‘why’?

“I don’t know the ‘how’, Sir. I’m sorry...” she whispered. Why was she dead. How could that have happened? This was not a thought she had ever entertained before. Dead. Pffft. She could not be dead. There was no way this was possible. She had lived through a god damn war for Merlin’s sake. She could not be dead just because of one little spell Dolohov had thrown at her.

“Then how did you get here, Miss Granger… hmm? Did you fall down the stairs? Did you try a new spell out of a book you were in no way allowed to read?”, Snape put his book onto the coffee table, “Were you mauled by a vicious beast or did you fall off a broom from up too high? Did Antonin Dolohov throw a curse with a very distinct colour at you or did you overdose on sleeping potions? What is it, Miss Granger? And make it quick.”

Sure, the curse that Dolohov had thrown at her had been sickeningly green, but there was surely more than one spell that had this colour. Right?  
“That was not the Avada, Sir. I couldn’t be. If I am dead then why do I still exist? Why am I still a sentient and thinking being?”, Hermione shook her curly head, “Why am I… alive… for a lack of a better word?”

“How do you have it with religion, Miss Granger?” Snape folded his fingers under his chin and leaned forward in his armchair, “do you believe in a god? Or perhaps just the afterlife?”  
Hermione frowned. “What sort of question is that? How can there be a god? There is no evidence for one.”, she exclaimed and wrapped the blanket tighter around her frame.   
“Do you have to see evidence to believe in things, Hermione?”, came the cryptic answer from her stoic professor, “Or do you simply claim that there is no higher might. Do you have evidence against there being a god?”

“What do you think, Sir,” Hermione asked, unsure of how to answer his question, “if this is not too much an inversion of your privacy.” “Well,” he began, “I’m much like you in this regard. I will not believe in something, that I do not have evidence for. Regardless if it is a theological issue or a scientific one. Not that theology is not a science.” Professor Snape leaned back in his chair and picked his book back up, flipping it open on the page he had left of.

“However, Hermione, the reason that we think so much alike in this regard is, that I am not Severus Snape.”

“What do you mean by that now? You are right in front of me!”

“That is true. But who tells you that I am not simply a hallucination?”

Hermione didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

“It is because I am you, Hermione...”

“Me?”

“A projection of your sub-conscience. Your body is in shock. Our body. My body. The semantics are irrelevant. We are separated from each other because you physically refuse to think rationally. You are running on hormones, nothing more. I am the rest.  
We are dead. Both of us. Together. But we, you, were given a chance.” 

“A chance?” Hermione couldn't understand. She had just been told she was dead and now she was not? “how do I get a chance. A second chance?” Snape shook his head, his shoulders shaking. Hermione thought he was laughing. He probably was. “Do you remember what you wore around your neck? The time-turner?” Hermione nodded silently. “Well, Dolohov’s Avada burs it. Curses are hot. Very hot. The sand inside was melted into your skin. It is part of your body now. Forever.”  
Snape stood up from his armchair and walked through the room. Around the coffee-table and her chair, around the big book-stand in the corner that looked like it was twice as old as Professor Dumbledore and past all the bookshelves that looked much emptier that she remembered from her entrance.

“This is the part that I do not comprehend myself. We are the same person, after all.” Snape stopped and turned to look at Hermione, his cloak swishing around his shoes, “the sand saved your life, that much is clear. Otherwise, you would not have had the choice between this little door, a small chance and tricky riddle that brought us back to life, and the hall filled with dead people. You know those voices.”

“However, what the sand will ultimately do to us remains to be seen. Maybe we will never stop jumping through time. Maybe we are I the year 500 B.C. Who knows? We could be in the far future. We will have to wait and see.” Snape smiled. It did not look like it was his mouth that was smiling. It looked detached almost. If he was simply a projection, Hermione wouldn’t be able to project the smile onto him. She had never seen him smile. Well, at least not a nice smile.

“But what I do know Hermione, is that our time is up. Our body has regenerated enough to take us away from the brink of death and into the sweet release of involuntary coma.” Professor Snape snapped his book shut, which he had held open the whole entire time he had wandered the room, and tucked it into a free slot on the shelf next to him. 

“Let’s see what the future, or the past, brings us. Maybe both.” and with that Hermione’s vision was flooded with a multitude of colours and galaxies before it faded out entirely and became pitch black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gretchen, wie hast du's eigentlich mit der Religion
> 
> to everyone who had to read, or will have to read Faust (Goethe) in German lessons: I feel so sorry for you. I absolutely hated it.


	7. Chapter 7

3rd December 1979

It was late in the evening. Most shops had already closed down and employees were busy clearing the street in front of their workplace, flicking their wands back and forth, the one or the other was swinging a sweeping broom across the cobblestone – most likely to get the stiffness out of their body after standing behind the register all day. Big, fluffy snowflakes were falling from the dark night sky onto the ground but melted at immediate contact. What was left was simply muddied water that seemed to seep into one's boots and socks. 

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy tucked his newly acquired package wrapped in brown paper under his heavy, black woollen cloak, adjusted the grip on his cane and hastily hurried down the flight of stairs that led to Bilhah’s Second-Hand Books. The door behind him fell shut, hitting the dainty golden ball above it on its way, making it jungle happily in form of a Goodbye! Come back soon!. His father would throw a fit if he knew that his precious heir was buying used books, but Lucius couldn’t care less. His rebellious teens were not over, better yet, they had only started. How can one be rebellious when the school never did anything to stop him from putting a toe out of line in fear that his father would revoke his generous monthly donations. Money could buy many favours. But now that he was out of school and his father still alive and kicking, he explored all those different ideas that could bring the old man one step closer to death from being too angry with his own son.   
But mostly, Lucius bought used books because sometimes people wrote in them and he just loved reading those little annotations.

As he made his way down the street, he let his feet drag through the puddles on the ground. It didn’t bother him too much that his expensive boots were getting dirty, it was just, that these times where it was snowing and yet there was no white blanked over the world were this special type of mood for him. It made him nostalgic, for some strange reason, and melancholic and content at the same time. The weather called for a soft and warm blanket made from Bicorn wool, a mug of scalding hot tea from the Himalayan-region and a plate filled with biscuits filled with near liquid chocolate from the Amazonas. And of course a good book.

Even though he now had a secret addiction to pre-owned books, Lucius still had his taste for the lavish and expensive in the world. His father was planning to marry him off to one Narcissa Black in just a month’s time and would gift them an estate in South Wales that had been in the hands of his family for a little more than two hundred years. He distantly remembered Narcissa from his days at Hogwarts. She was not much different from him when it came to the prices her endeavours asked, but he didn’t remember much more about her. Lucius had decided, that he would provide the basic furnishing for their new home to have the manor prepared for when they came back from their honeymoon in south-east Asia. He had been in contact with the best-renowned carpenters around Europe for the dining table and silverware cupboards and had exchanged letters with merchants around the globe that could provide him with exotic fabrics to have the seating arrangements made. He would leave the decoration in the hands of his soon-to-be wife. 

Although finally being able to act as the head of his own house without his father falling into each and every one of his words sounded nothing short of perfect, he could not yet wrap his head around his upcoming situation.   
Married.  
He detested that word. Without really having a reason.   
The worst part about his wedding would be the attendance of one Tom Marvolo Riddle. Not that he would ever address the man with this name aloud. The Blacks were avid followers of the Dark Lord, with their oldest daughter being almost glued to the man’s lips. Lucius found the woman distasteful to watch.

His shoes sounded almost too loud on the cobblestone when he rounded another corner and approached the Leaky Cauldron. The streets were empty already, as most people either sat in the bar or had gone home as soon as the shops had closed for the day. This far up front in Diagon-Alley were only apartment buildings and the one or the other Peddler stand. Lucius attempted to rid his coat of the water droplets and brushed an imaginary lock of hair behind his ear as he strode up to the wall that separated the wizarding world from the muggle one. Before he could enter, however, he paused and took a few steps back.

On the ground, just behind a couple of wooden boxes, in an alleyway that led into the labyrinth of narrow streets between the apartment complexes was a pile of what looked like long wet fur. Lucius had no interest in a stray dog or cat or anything that required pats on the head, but he still crept closer. The fur was, as it turned out, not fur at all. It was long, dark brown hair that was wet from the melting snow and the puddle beneath it. And it was attached to a woman.

The Malfoy heir crossed the few meters between him and the woman in the blink of an eye and crouched down beside her. She laid face down in a puddle of dirty water, one of her nose nearly submerged in the ice-cold liquid. It was quite clear that she was unconscious. Lucius only faintly noted that she was entirely naked as he grabbed her by her shoulders to flip her onto her back so that she would not drown in a puddle. Her skin was ice cold and her lips, even with her dark skin tone, were frighteningly blue. It was only then, that he saw the blood dripping from her chest. The bleeding came from the space in between her breasts were a large patch of skin had ripped open and showed parts of what seemed to be her ribcage and muscle tissue. The wound looked as if it was heavily burned and charred. There was a piece of metal embedded into it which was attached to a long, fine gold chain around her neck. A necklace, most likely.

Without much thought, Lucius Malfoy shrunk his paper-wrapped book to fit into the pocket of his frock coat, shrugged off his cloak. He wrapped the young woman with it before lifting her into his arms, turning on the spot and vanishing into thin air with nothing but the sound of a soft breeze.

The same second he vanished, he reappeared on a dimly lit street lined with rotting iron fences and brick houses with junk in their front yards. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground, just enough to cover the broken stones and chewed gums. He nearly slipped as he landed from his apparation, almost forgetting the feathery snowflakes that had already settled in his hair in London.

Bringing the woman here had been a split-second decision. He didn’t need to help her, but he felt that it would have been wrong to leave her to die. He briefly thought about calling the Aurors or bringing her to Saint Mungo's, but this would put him into suspicion and he could not afford that at the moment. His family, his father, was too deeply involved with the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. He would have been thrown into a holding cell and his father would have punished him for acting stupid. Lucius knew that he would not have been arrested and brought to Azkaban, but he would have to sit through a trial. His father always warned him that he should not make himself suspicious in the eyes of the ministry.   
Therefore he could not bring the woman to either Aurors or the Hospital.

The Malfoy heir hurried down the street towards a narrow brick house with broken windows and a dented fence gate. He didn’t know medicine even if it bit him in the arse, but the man who lived there was studying it. More or less that is. Secretly Lucius wished that the sight of someone carrying an unconscious, bleeding and naked young woman would be a rarity around this part of town, but it wasn’t. People just closed their blinds with a shake of their head, muttering about just another girl who drank too much. 

He pushed open the battered fence gate, nearly tripping over the raised stone underneath it. If his adrenalin would not be running as high as it did that moment, he would have noticed his underarms cramping up, but he didn’t. With his back to the door, he kicked up his heel and rapped it on the dark red door. For a moment nothing could be heard from within, then a shuffling of feet being put into soft slippers and a couple of steps. The tall man who opened the door did not look happy with his guest.   
“I had planned to call it an early night, Malfoy,” he grunted, a washed-out grey bathrobe around his shoulders and his long black hair tied together in a hasty ponytail on the back of his head, “And perhaps enlighten me as to why you are bringing me a dead body, hm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have made it into the past!!!
> 
> Also, yes, I'm going with the trope of Hermione being a person of colour. Please don't hit me
> 
> And Lucius is a big ol' softy with cosy interest


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing that swam into her vision was a cobweb in the corner of the room. Judging by the number of flies and other little critters, it had been there for quite a while. Hermione felt as if she had been hit by a train after falling onto the tracks from the roof of King’s Cross Station. Her head hurt in places she didn’t even know existed and every breath felt like acid running down her nasal cavity and throat before burning her lungs. She felt sick as if she would throw up any second. She hoped she wouldn’t though because if she did she would surely choke on her own vomit. Her entire body was rigid and her skin felt numb above the pain of her insides. Hypoesthesia her parents had called that sensation.

The room she found herself in was very bland. The only decorations were the aforementioned cobwebs and very few specks of colour in the lower region of the walls. Even though her vision was not yet entirely sharp, she could recognise the shape of a tree drawn in red crayon and what looked like boy and girl stick figures both in blue. Whoever owned the place had a child. Maybe long ago, but the room had belonged to a small child with crayons at some point. The rest of the small room was nearly bare. The only exception, next to the bed, was a small wooden box that collected dust on its lid. The floor had recently been swept, though not thoroughly as there was still a thick layer of dirt in the corners. The bed she laid in was very comfortable. The mattress was very soft and gave her the sensation of being sort of embraced from behind. The bedding was freshly washed and smelled like soap and cleanliness.

Hermione slowly became more aware of the things that lay beyond her field of vision. Somewhere outside she could hear children screaming and yelling as they played some game that required a lot of running. In the hallway outside her room was a clock that slowly ticked off the seconds and light steps moved from one end of the house to the other. Up the stairs, into a room, running water could be heard, then back into the hallway and down the stairs before a few seconds of silence were interrupted by the clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen.

She followed the steps with her ears. They were soothing. Like the presence of just ordinary housework in a time of distress. After what felt like two hours, even though the clock outside had only chimed once, the steps came back upstairs. This time they moved towards her door and the little brass knows turned. The door swung open to reveal the owner of the house carrying a tray with a bowl of hot food and a glass of water as well as multiple syringes.

Hermione screamed.

The man almost dropped the tray.

They stared at each other. No one blinked for the longest time.

“I assume it is safe to say that you are awake,” Snape said, forming his question more like a statement before setting down the tray on the little box. He proceeded to pick up the various syringes. There were three that were filled with a clear liquid and two more that were filled with swirling colours.   
“You slept for just over a week and the first thing you do when you wake up is scream at me?”, he asked, more muttering to himself than addressing her, while he checked the syringes for air bubbles, “that does not make for a promising start if you ask me...”

Hermione still stared at him in a shocked daze. Where was she? Was she still trapped in her own mind? Was this the real Snape or was this just another prank her sub-conscience pulled on her? Would she wake up again, somewhere else? Had she reached her final destination? Was she dead?

No. She wasn’t dead. The Snape in her mind had told her that she was, in fact, not dead. Yet.   
Maybe she had died after losing consciousness. Maybe her mental Snape had been wrong and she was mortally wounded.  
But everything felt so real.

“Are you real?”, she asked out loud. Her voice sounded like she had swallowed a cheese-grater. Snape did not stop working on the medication he was seemingly about to give her. “Of course I am real. Are you daft? What else could I be? A ghost?” he snorted, although it sounded like he tried to suppress it.  
“Well, yes...” Hermione answered faintly. Snape’s hand stilled for a fraction of a second, but he didn’t say anything.

He carried the tray over to a small bedside table that Hermione hadn’t noticed beforehand and picked up the first of the syringes. “What is that?” she asked, trying to scoot away from the needle. She didn’t want him to inject her with a substance that could be dangerous to her. “I don’t want that.” “Well, if you do not want it, you should better get up out of bed and do a few jumping jacks and push-ups,” he pulled the blanket off her, “it simply prevents you from getting thrombosis, nothing more.”  
Hermione looked down her body. She was clad in a nightgown that was bunched up around her waist. Her blood ran cold instantly.  
“No one did anything untoward you,” Snape seemed to have read her mind, “The injection goes into the outer thigh and I did not want to stab the needle through the fabric.” His explanation eased her mind a little bit.

With a stable hand, he pricked her skin with the needle. Even though she had expected the little jab of pain, she still jumped. She regretted it not a second later when he gave her the most annoyed look she had ever seen on a human being. Otherwise, it would have lost to Crooks normal face.   
“Get yourself together, Miss Granger. Are you a child?”, he admonished her, throwing both the needle and the syringe in a little container on the tray. Hermione just nodded, still too baffled by her very much alive potions professor.

Snape started to reorganize his tray, putting the one or the other syringe aside, sometimes picking them back up while a look of concentration passed over his features. It was then, that Hermione noted, that Snape looked much younger than she remembered him. Was her memory simply flawed or had her sub-conscience been right with its assessment about travelling through time?   
Hermione hoped that the latter was not the case. How would he know her name otherwise? But he did look younger. Maybe, if she had travelled through time, she was just back by maybe two or three years. But he looked so incredibly young. There were no wrinkles on his face, no lines etched into his features from his constant frowning. Even his nose seemed to be different, the hook there, but not as prominent.

“Are you done staring now?”, he asked and handed her the glass of water. In his other hand, he was holding three of the remaining syringes. The fourth one he had sorted out. “Drink this. The potions you will have to take will not taste good. Do not spit them out,” he warned her. Was he going to inject them into her tongue, or what?  
“as you are awake now, I don’t feel the need to inject them directly into your bloodstream. They can be taken orally as well as intravenously. And I assume you will not require a potion that would help you regain consciousness.” he spoke while she sipped carefully on her glass of water. Her throat was ash-dry and taking big sips hurt like hell.

“What year is it?” she asked carefully, trying not to overexercise her vocal box. Snape did not beat an eyelid at her strange question. “1979,” he said, seemingly getting annoyed with her taking her time with the water. Hermione dropped the glass, water seeped through the blanket onto her legs

20 years.

She had gone back in time by 20 years.

Wordlessly she reached for the tree syringes. Absent-mindedly she noted, that the needles had been removed. One after another she downed the vile liquids.

20 years.

Would she have to do everything all over again? She prayed to any god, that she wouldn’t have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry, that my chapters are always sort of short-ish.
> 
> Anyways. I have read every single comment and I am very happy about each and every one <3
> 
> And no, it will not develop into a love triangle with Lucius, don't worry ^-^


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit longer than the last one. Also, the solution to the mystery of him knowing her name ;)

Hermione had never really thought, that she would have tea with Professor Snape, but here she was. She was lying on an old couch in his living room, a tiny space that doubled for a dining room. At least as far as a small, square wooden table with uneven legs and two chairs in two different designs could be considered a dining room. The house was not ugly, per se, but it was old and a lot of things looked as if they would have been purchased before the 20th century if it wasn’t for the more modern style. One of the crossrails in the back of the sky-blue chair was held together with adhesive tape and even though the grey material covered more than half of its surface, Hermione could see that it was splintered badly. The other chair was painted in a grey-ish tinted pastel pink. It was a horrendous colour, but Hermione found it oddly amusing to imagine sour-puss Severus Snape sitting on it in a fluffy white bathrobe, bunny slippers and a hot cup of tea with floral print and golden rim. Both chairs had cushions in a brown-white checkered pattern and a big bow that secured them on the backrest.

The couch she sat on was made from fairly fine materials considering the rest of the house. It was an older piece of furniture and incredibly comfortable. When she first sat down in it, after Snape had helped her down the stairs, she knew immediately that she would not be able to get back up. It was simply too soft.   
It was an Edwardian style sofa in leather with hefty brass nails that kept the leather in place below the seating area. The frame was made from a sort of dark wood and if Hermione would have guessed she would say it was mahogany.   
The coffee table in front of her was newer, also made from wood, but the dark colour was quite obviously achieved by lacquer. Its design didn’t match the sofa at all.  
The armchair Snape was sitting in, across from her on the other side of the coffee table, was midnight blue but seemed to be from the same era as the couch. The man’s back was ramrod straight, although still awkwardly leaning back against the back of the chair as he had pushed his behind as close to it as physically possible. He was watching her, the onion patterned teacup and dark green saucer in his hands forgotten.

Hermione had just swallowed down the last sip of her soup. He had cooked it for her, as far as she understood. If she would not have been awake, he would have spelled it into her stomach. She put the plate down onto her lap and Snape moved to stand up. “I did not ask you properly, but I assume your name is Hermione Jean Granger?” he asked and walked towards where she assumed the kitchen to be. She gave him a barely audible “yes” and she wasn’t sure if he had heard her, but he did.  
“There is mail for you. Whoever is sending you letters has been bombarding me with owls in the past nine days,” he threw a pile of letters at her while simultaneously flicking his wrist and banishing the empty soup bowl to the kitchen, “if it is your paramour or someone else you know he can pick you up from here immediately. You have been here for longer than I deem necessary.” he sat back down in his armchair, his back as stiff as before.

Hermione looked down on the envelopes in her hands. They were made from quite heavy paper and if the structure would not have been as smooth as it was, she would have said that the paper was handmade. The flaps were secured with a dark purple coloured wax seal and the pattern seemed to be a pocket-watch encircled by flowers and other shrubberies. Above the seal on each letter was her name in dark, black ink; Hermione Jean Granger. But why did she have post? In a time where she was realistically speaking only just old enough to support her own head while slobbering onto anything and everyone around her?

One after another, she broke the seals of the envelopes. Each letter came with the date it arrived at. There were ten in total, two from the 3rd December 1979, and then one letter per day afterwards. They all came from the same sender and while they looked handwritten, the writing was too consistent and each letter looked too much like all the others of his kind. Hermione suspected a dicta-quill or an automated response system. She began with the two earliest letters.

Dear Miss Hermione Jean Granger,

This morning our office received a notification about your arrival. We welcome you with open arms to the 3rd December of 1979.

In addition to this informative missive, you will find a questionnaire being sent to you. We will ask you to fill out all possible blanks so that we are able to help you build a new life and slot you into our current society.  
Your date of departure was / will be the 3rd of July 1998. Your arrival in your past has opened up a rift between two places that should not have a connection. Therefore, it is of our utmost interest to fully integrate you into the year 1979 of the 2,301st dimension. We will ask you to keep any information about your previous existence hidden from every person but those directly involved with our office.  
Should you perhaps have broken this rule before our missive got to you, we will have to ask you to fill out the name (if possible, if not, physical appearance as detailed as possible) and place of the event on the questionnaire in the second envelope. Should you not be able to recall the person’s name, proceed as mentioned in the brackets above. You will be sent a follow-up letter including photographic data of matching individuals as soon as it will be possible. You will receive further instructions in this letter.

Furthermore and lastly, we want to inform you that we will get into contact with you personally after you sent us the completed form. Slotting an individual back into a time can be an exceedingly complicated process, which is why we prefer to discuss these issues in private.  
We look forward to be working with you.

Sincerely,  
Gerard Foust, Head Specialist  
and  
Collin Oreland, Senior Scientist,

Department of Histories, December 3rd 1979

Hermione read the letter again and again. There was a whole group of people who worked with time travel and time turners. She had never read anything about this department. In no book in the Hogwarts library was ever just a single word said about a Department of Histories.  
She picked up the second letter of that day and began to read through the form. Most questions were rather basic, such as her date and place of birth, names of her parents and potential children including their birthdays, education status and profession and so forth and so forth.

Then there were other questions regarding her arrival. Mostly about the circumstances and about other potential individuals involved. They asked for a detailed description of the day she left her time and what she remembered from the travel itself. The questionnaire furthermore asked for the catalyst of the time travel and the instrument involved in it. Two pages of parchment were filled with short questions about her previous life and a third page asked her to describe her physical and mental stability from her arrival on as well as for the things she experienced and with whom she had interacted so far.

After she had asked Snape for a quill and a pot of ink, which he had brought her with a deep sigh and an annoyed eye roll, she started to fill out the sheets as best as she could. For some of the questions, she required the help of the grumpy man in the armchair on the other side of the couch table, which he answered very tight-lipped.  
What are your current whereabouts? --- 153 Spinner’s End, Cokeworth, Apartment D  
or  
Give a detailed description of your physical ailments that resulted from or were the result of time travel --- heavy burns in the central chest area, multiple cuts and bruises, a fractured shoulder and a twisted ankle as well as internal bleeding below the diaphragm  
and so on and so on.

Hermione tried not to care about Snape seeing her burnt chest. It meant that he had seen her naked, or at least her top half, but he showed no obvious signs of creepy behaviour towards her and conducted himself perfectly, even saying that he would apologize in case this situation made her uncomfortable and would not mention it in the future. Additionally, it had been necessary for him to uncover her top half to give her medical aid.

She had asked him why he didn’t bring her to Saint Mungo’s with her extent of injuries.   
“I have my reasons,” he said after he poured the cold cup of tea down the drain in his kitchen sink, “I am not exactly the picture of a perfect gentleman to our society. And as you seem to recognize me, you were probably already aware of this fact,” during the half an hour he had aided her with filling out the questionnaire he had told her that he did not read any of her post, to Hermione’s gratification, and therefore knew nothing of why she was here. Although he did seem to understand that she was not from this timeline. “If I would have brought you to a hospital, it would have become a public case for the ministry. And I can promise you that certain people within the ministry would have put me, Snivellus, straight into Azkaban without a trial for a rape and assault I have not committed.”

The mention of the nickname let Hermione know that he was probably talking about the Marauders. Sirius had used the moniker in front of them enough times for her to make the connection. Snape, however, was not done: “Additionally, it was not me who found you. I would not know how to explain myself. A friend of mine brought you here. As far as I understood him, he knows more about what happened to you than I do and has asked me to keep your ‘existence’, as he phrased it, quiet.”  
Her old, well... young, professor shifted in his armchair and stared out of the window. Outside, the snow was falling in big flakes, settling onto the windowsill and the tree branches on the other side of the wooden fence. The fence posts looked like they were wearing little snow-hats by now and once in a while a chunk broke off and fell to the ground soundlessly when the weight of the snow became too heavy to support itself. While Hermione could not see the sun anymore, she knew it had not yet sunken below the horizon. The midnight black sky from above the house merged with the purples, reds and oranges from behind the trees. She knew that it would not be long until it would be pitch black outside.

“May I ask who your ‘friend’ is?” Hermione asked, not taking her gaze off the scenery outside. She hoped she knew the person. Although she faced his answer with trepidation as she remembered that most of his closer acquaintances at this time of his life were probably involved in the blood purity movement.

“He let me know that he wanted to talk to you. Lucius Malfoy. Maybe his name rings a bell for you. He says he has some important questions to ask you.” Snape answered. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to suppress a groan. Fantastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoy reading all your comments, although I rarely answer them. I'm mostly online on my phone, so I apologize if I offend anyone by not answering
> 
> Enjoy your day!


	10. chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm warning you: This chapter is mostly just theoretical explanations. The plot is nowhere in sight. Sorry

The next morning Hermione woke up tired and worn out. Her body was still fighting her injuries and now that she was awake and part of her energy went into actually staying conscious, her body felt like a limp noodle. She slept in the same room as she had woken up in the day before, although Snape had handed her an alarm clock so that she could read the time.  
He had gruffly instructed her to not wake him up unless the house was burning or someone broke in and ripped all of his books apart. No waking him up, not even if she was dying, or so he said.

But now it was half-past eleven and she could hear the cluttering of kitchen utensils from downstairs. Snape was already awake and preparing food, be it a late breakfast or a slightly early lunch. She hoped that he had thought about her and made her another bowl of soup. The one he gave her yesterday had been decisively delicious. He had given her creamy potato stew and had given her a saucer with white bread on it for her to dunk it in as soon as they sat down downstairs.  
He might not be the most polite person, but Hermione found that he had at least some manners.

Snape had made a floocall to one of the Malfoys’ estates a little while after their conversation had ended, informing his friend that their patient was awake and ‘happily chattering away’. The blond aristocrat had promptly decided to visit the following day before noon to talk to Snape and Hermione.  
She didn’t know if the man was already here. It was before noon, but ‘before noon’ was not exactly a very specific time frame. There were no voices to be heard from downstairs, but that did not ultimately negate Malfoy’s arrival. Maybe they were just not talking or one of them had cast a silencing charm to prevent vocal information from leaving a certain area. Hermione had read about those in a book about complicated charms at Hogwarts. It had been from a woman named Beryll Huntington who had been a charms mistress sometime in the 1750s.

Hermione sat up carefully before swinging her feet over the edge of the bed onto the ground. She stayed in that position for roughly three minutes to prevent dizziness and nausea before she pushed herself off the soft mattress and made towards the door. She was wearing the same nightgown as the day before. There were not really other clothes she could wear besides of asking to borrow some from Snape, although he would probably stab her with a dull butterknife if she dared to ask. She slowly trotted over to the bathroom on the other side of the hallway to relieve herself and splash some cold water into her face before she tackled the steep staircase.

Her arrival downstairs had apparently been anticipated. On the coffee table stood another bowl filled with soup, although this time it looked to be vegetables and a bit of chicken cut into tiny pieces. Snape sat at the small dining table with a cutting board and multiple sharp knives. In front of him were a few small jars filled with liquids and a few open tins. Potions ingredients, guessed Hermione.  
Across from him on the other chair, the one with the broken backpiece sat Lucius Malfoy. He too looked much younger than she remembered. His eyes did not shift around restlessly, nor did he look haunted. His cheeks were not sunken in and his jaw was cleanly shaven. Additionally, there was no sign of his signature hair-bow that kept his platinum hair tied behind his head. Instead, it fell over his shoulders in long waves while he looked at Snape’s hands with what could only be described as disgust.  
Kill him with kindness, Hermione thought and walked into the living room after knocking on the doorframe.

“Ahhh! Miss Granger! Severus told me you woke up. It’s great to see you walk under the living again,” Malfoy rose out of his chair and stood in front of her with three short steps, “You look far better than the last time I saw you. Washing the blood of does wonders, doesn’t it?” he jested as she took his outstretched hand for a handshake. Taking a deep breath, Hermione took his hand. His grip was strong and confident, the handshake of a businessman.  
“Good morning, Mister Malfoy. Mister Snape told me about you yesterday evening over a cup of tea. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said and finally brought up the courage to look into his steel-grey eyes. The last time she had made eye contact with the man he had been two decades older, had been to prison twice and was sitting in front of a judge, tied to a chair. Then, his eyes had looked dull and discouraged. They had seen death and torture, had participated and had not been closed for sleep for some weeks. But on this winter morning, they sparkled.

The smile on his face seemed to be absolutely genuine. It could be a trick. He was a Slytherin after all. Hermione concluded that she would be safe as long as neither of the young men knew that she was nothing but a measly mudblood. She would build a foundation for herself in this time, work on a way to get back to the future and leave both men as soon as possible. No looking back. Maybe she would help Snape get back on the right path, but only if there was enough time.

“Severus told you about me? I hope it’s only good things.” the blonde aristocrat laughed and offered his chair to her. The man in question grunted and scratched the roots or leaves he had been cutting from his cutting board into an empty jar with a knife. “I’m going to cut straight to business. I would like to talk to you about the one or the other thing. There are some questions I would like answers to if that is agreeable with you.” he continued as Hermione sat on the chair and tucked her knees under the table.

Malfoy turned to Snape and both men shared a look. Snape sighed once again and started stacking his jars and bowls before relocating everything onto the same try that he had used to transport her food the day prior. After informing his guests that he would be in the basement, trying to get some peace and quiet, he picked up his tray and left out the backdoor. Hermione could see him go down a set of stairs on the other side of the window and then she heard the sound of a door being kicked shut.

“How are you faring so far, Miss Granger? Does Severus provide you with enough pain potions?” Malfoy asked as he sat down on the chair Snape had just vacated. Hermione just nodded. Malfoy did too.  
“Well then. Without further distractions now. I brought you here after I found you in a little alleyway near Diagonalley. I decided to bring you here instead of a hospital for… personal… reasons.” he fingered a tear in the tablecloth and pulled out bits and pieces of fuzz. “I concluded that you are not from this time.” he finished.  
Hermione nearly froze. Ho could he know? Was he responsible for the letters she received from this odd ministry department?

“How did you know?” she asked. She didn’t even think about denying it. He seemed too sure. “You came as a package deal with a time turner. I tried to remove it carefully… and not so carefully, because I was getting desperate. But it didn’t work. It is still fused to your chest.” Hermione’s hand hurried to her chest. The skin there was numb and she couldn’t feel the touch of her own fingers through the material of the dress. Her fingertips, however, felt bumps and edges and warmth through the cloth. She didn’t want to pull down the collar of the nightgown right now, not while she was in the company of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy.  
“I put a glamour over it. My research shows that it is not too practical when too many people know of a time traveller. You would gather quite the amount of, let me call it, friends. And while contacts are never a bad thing to have, I imagine that these contacts would not be too fruitful.” he took a sip of tea from his cup. By now it was surely cold, but that was something he rectified with a flick of his wrist.  
“Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Granger?” “If there still is any,” Hermione answered and Malfoy chuckled as he stood up. “This is Great Britain, Miss Granger. There is no such thing as no tea in a respectable household. And while Severus might not be the host of the century in terms of manners and the like, he does value a fine cup of tea.” he vanished through the door to the kitchen and Hermione could hear him opening multiple cabinets, a quick ‘Ah, there!’ and then the kettle on the stove.  
Lucius Malfoy was making tea for her. By hand. Without a house-elf. She had to be dreaming.

When he came back a couple of minutes later he handed her a cup of steaming hot tea and a spoon before setting the kettle down on a coaster and vanishing back into the kitchen to pick up sugar and cream. Hermione put a bit of both into her tea. While she didn’t really like cream and sugar in her tea, she didn’t want to be impolite after he had gone and fetched it for her.

“I glamoured the time turner in hopes that Severus hadn’t seen it.” he continued, “but apparently it was too late for that. He asked me about it as soon as we had patched up the worst of your injuries. I did not give him all the information I have about time turners, but he knows that I may have skirted the extent of its abilities and my knowledge about it a bit. I am very sure that he has concluded that you come from another time.” Malfoy refilled his own cup of tea and poured the cream in deliberately. “May I ask what you know about time turners, sir?” Hermione asked, genuinely curious. Not many people knew of their existence in the first place, but Malfoy seemed to have done his homework.

“My academic interests lie in basically everything that has to do with time.” he began, “and my interest has been piked ever since I one of our house-elves told me a story of a faraway land in a long-forgotten time when I was just a toddler. After I learned how to read, no book in the library that had the label ‘history’ on it was safe from my sticky, little hands. 

“My father raised me with the concept that power can give you everything you desire. He also taught me, that ‘power’ is just a synonym for ‘magic’. My childish mind immediately came to the conclusion that there must be some spell that will bring me back into all those fantastic times with the Vikings and the Romans that I always read about in my books. So when I was older and started to understand what I was reading beyond the point of cool warriors with swords and armour, I began looking into time travel. It turned out that actually finding something on the topic was much harder than I had anticipated.” he chuckled again, reminiscent of his childhood and his foolish naivety.

“Not even the library at my home, Malfoy Manor, had any books on the topic and my father had always made our collection out to be the absolute magnum opus of libraries. But it seemed like he was delusional about that. And about many more things.  
But long story short, researching time travel is still a sort of hobby for me, even if it requires the one or the other confounded ministry employee to bring me the books I want.” he winked at her and to a large sip of tea.

“Don’t get me wrong, Mister Malfoy, but that did not answer my question entirely,” Hermione uttered, hoping that he would not lash out at her for her commentary. “Yes, that is quite correct. I got carried away, please excuse me.” he rubbed the back of his neck with his carefully manicured hand.  
“In hopes of providing you with as much information as possible, I will try and regurgitate as much as I got from various manuscripts and books. Essentially, time travel is only possible if you also travel through other dimensions. You cannot exist twice in the timeline you originate from if that makes any sense. You can invade another timeline with another you, but you cannot repeat the past of your own dimension. Additionally, every time someone travels through time, by whatever matter, a new dimension is formed. This dimension is the dimension in which you vanished and never reappeared. It splits away from the tree trunk that resembles your life as a branch. People who don’t travel through time have just this trunk, you, however, due to your appearance here, have made a branch. The dimension you come from carries on with its life, just without you. The dimension you are in now is a branch on the tree of the combined life of every person that ever lived. The main trunk is the line in which there is no time travel and only a little magic that manipulates the world and its’ structure. Every time someone makes a decision a new twig sprouts. The appearance of a time traveller is much more significant than the decision of a world leader to drop a bomb on another country. You have the knowledge from another time, another space, another dimension. Whether it is the future or the past, you bring information that should not exist in this time. Therefore, your arrival here has produced a whole branch that acts as the base for every decision made from this point on from every person. Just your existence is a major impact on this world.” while the explanation was interesting and made Hermione think of all sorts of things she could study, the question had still not been answered. Just as she wanted to speak up again, Malfoy lifted his hand in a give me a second gesture and took a sip of his tea, before grimacing and whispering hot, hot, hot.

“Now about those time turners… They are very old objects. There was apparently limited knowledge about them during the time they were originally built. There are no documents left today, as far as I know. They were either destroyed or lost. I am not entirely sure if there are still people who know how they even work. Papers about time turners are sparse and not very informative. They repeat the information for pages on end and will tell you over and over again, that no knowledge about them was preserved.

“I don’t know how they work. Or how they are made. But I have the suspicion that the sand inside and charms and spells on the gold and glass work in combination. How you actually travel through time and dimensions with it, is, however, entirely beyond me.” Malfoy took another sip. “This is, unfortunately, all I know.”

Hermione thanked him for the information he provided and a long silent pause fell over the pair like a heavy blanket. She didn’t know whether she should trust Malfoy or not, but Hermione had so many more questions that she would like answers to. She had hoped that maybe with his connections to ministry officials, he would be able to give her tips regarding this strange department and how they operate. And if she should answer the letters. One thing she had learned in her previous years was, that the Ministry was not to be trusted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me awhile again. Sorry. again.
> 
> I wrote a paper about time travel in literature last semester and it was super interesting. While it was exhausting, research about the topic was still fun (until it actually came to writing the paper, damn), but here you have a little something-something, that I came up with based on my research.
> 
> I hope you enjoy my story. Please review if you have the time because I love reading your comments.
> 
> Greetings from the cold af Germany


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